Unexpected
by piaffe417
Summary: Love at first sight caught you by surprise. Old West, Pilot ep
1. Chris

"_Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks.__" __Samuel Johnson_

You didn't expect to fall in love at first sight the first time. You figured it was something that happened to other people – to those who wore their hearts exposed on their sleeves - but a pair of dark eyes and a cascade of dark, curly hair swept your feet out from under you before you had time to think about it. Of course, that was a long time ago. You were younger then and you didn't mind the surprise of it because it was Sarah. She was everything you'd ever wanted and thought you'd never be able to have and you surrendered to the feeling without protest – _because it was Sarah_.

That's why the pain went down so bitter when she was taken from you, why everything went so dead inside that you figured you were safe from that sort of thing ever happening again. You hadn't deserved her and the Fates had seen fit to prove it by taking her away. Afterwards, there wasn't a piece of your heart big enough to break off and give away to anyone and you'd drowned its shriveled remains in so much whiskey and rage and self-pity that you were often surprised to wake up in the morning and feel it still beating in your chest, sustaining your body even after your soul had departed to follow your wife and son.

Needless to say, then, falling in love at first sight a second time wasn't something you'd ever concerned yourself with because you figured it was impossible – so the day it happened, the unexpectedness of the feeling hit you in the gut so hard that you were surprised you didn't double over, reeling from the impact.

She wore a dress of claret red and stood in the middle of a dusty street with a Winchester rifle clutched awkwardly in her hands. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and she had hurried out of one of the storefront offices in an attempt to stop a group of drunken cowboys from lynching a black man. And even though you couldn't quite make out her features from where you stood outside the saloon, you knew you had just fallen in love. Something about that defiant stance, the way the rifle in her arms was too big and her petite figure looked to be almost cast in miniature against the backdrop of the town, caused your withered heart to miss a beat and a lump in your throat to rise, cutting off your breath.

There were a hundred things you didn't know about her and you were still certain it was love. Yet how could that be?

After all, you didn't know that her name was Mary Travis and that she ran a newspaper in the middle of a town where less then half the citizens could actually read the words on the printed page.

You didn't know that her eyes were the gray-green of the last rays of light reaching over the desert horizon at twilight and that when they rested on you, they felt warmer than that very sun on an afternoon in early spring.

You didn't know that those same eyes could also cut a man in half with a sharp look when she was angry or could make him swear up and down to do anything for her when they were hurt and scared.

You didn't know that telling her, "Lady, I _am_ the bad element" and slamming the door of her office would make you feel guilty for a week after, if only because the image of the hurt expression in those eyes got stuck in your head.

You didn't know that arguing with her would amuse you to no end and that you'd have to work hard not to laugh when she stood by her convictions with such fervor that wisps of hair would begin to escape from the bun at the back of her head.

You didn't know how hard it would be not to reach over and tuck those tiny strands of golden hair behind her ears when they strayed.

You didn't know that she, too, had suffered the loss of a spouse, living to see those vows of "'til death do us part" through to the other side and forcing herself to pick herself up and go on much as you did.

You didn't know that the first time she called you "Chris" instead of her more formal habit of saying "Mr. Larabee," your breath would catch in your throat and you'd stand frozen in your tracks until you recovered your senses enough to turn around and acknowledge her.

You didn't know that she had a son who was about the age of yours when he was taken from you, a son who'd suffered the agony of watching the murder of his own father but who came away from the experience with the sort of strength usually reserved for grown men three times his age.

You didn't know that watching over the two of them, Mary and her boy, would come to you naturally, almost as though they had belonged to you all along.

You didn't know that it would soon become your instinct to look to Mary whenever you needed reassurance or guidance – or whenever you thought that she might need the favor returned – and that even after it had become a reflex, you'd still look to her anyway, if only just to take her in with your eyes and remind yourself that she was real.

You didn't know how easy it would be to rest a hand on her waist or in the small of her back to guide her as the two of you walked, almost as though you were relying on her to lead the way.

You didn't know that you'd not only look after Mary and Billy Travis, but that doing so would make you look after yourself more carefully. Death wouldn't seem so inviting once you began to live for them.

In short, you didn't know anything about her at all.

You simply knew that right there in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of a town in the middle of nowhere, your own heart had betrayed your mind and fallen in love for only the second time in your life. And when one of the cowboys knocked her over and another ripped the rifle from her hands and the group rode past, captive in tow, your stomach and heart lurched as one and your instincts told you to go help her up, to sweep her into your arms, hold her close, and never let the world near her again.

You even took a step in her direction before it registered in your mind, before you realized exactly what you wanted to do (and why you wanted to do it) and you thought: _Oh shit._

The thought that followed it was significantly less rational and you almost obeyed the screaming voice in your head that ordered you to run, to follow the town marshal on his stolen horse and get yourself the hell away from not only the dusty town in the middle of the desert, but from the feelings that had crept up on you from behind and pounced without warning. And it was _feelings_, plural now, because that first blush of love had immediately been followed by a fresh wave of pain over what you'd had and lost, a pang of guilt for daring to love someone else when you hadn't even avenged the deaths of your family, and a wave of shame at what you'd become in the three years since their passing – a burnt out shell of a man sustained only by hate.

(Funny how that hate wasn't as firmly attached as you thought, though, considering how quickly it had moved aside to make room for Mary Travis.)

You almost fled then – and you probably would have if you hadn't glanced across the street and locked eyes with Vin Tanner for the first time. He'd just stepped out of the dry goods store, a brand new rifle in his hands and his storekeeper's apron banished from his wiry frame, and when his gaze came to rest on yours, you knew that you weren't going anywhere but to the cemetery to save a man from an unjust hanging. Woman or no woman, in love or not, you had one more thing to do before you could depart the dusty town and you couldn't let the lanky gunslinger go on his own. A man could get killed that way.

(And hell, if you played your cards right, maybe it would be you who was killed and you wouldn't have to worry about the woman after all.)

So if it was love at first sight with Mary, it was friendship and brotherhood at first sight with Vin as you shared the first of many silent conversations in the distance between where you both stood:

_Can't let them hang him._

_Nope. It'd be a shame._

_I'm going. You in?_

_Lead the way._

That was the start of everything, the turning point in the new life that grew out of the ashes of your old one and you've often wondered since what would have happened if you had gotten on your horse and ridden out of town that day. You have a pretty good idea of what _wouldn't_ have happened, that much is certain:

You'd never have been asked to protect an Indian village from raiders and thus, never befriended the rest of the men you came to regard as brothers in arms – and friends.

You'd never have seen the grace with which Vin carried the burden of being a wanted man, never learned the value of a good con from Ezra, nor seen the healing powers in the hands of Nathan, watched JD grow into a man of purpose and forthright honesty, or understood the true meaning of faith as Josiah saw it.

You'd never have remembered why, exactly, you had long been friends with Buck and the way that the randy gunslinger could always make you smile.

You'd never have learned all the things you didn't know about Mary, never have met her son Billy, and never allowed the strong pull of love at first sight to wear down all of your defenses until you allowed it to consume the heart you'd thought you'd lost for good.

You'd have never experienced the feeling of being a part of a family again, a family that looked out for its members and never let anyone or anything break it apart.

In fact, you'd probably never have lived – _really lived_ – again.

You didn't expect any of that to happen and you still wonder from time to time if you deserve it, if maybe the Fates didn't make a mistake again and if everything you have isn't temporary. But that can't be the case, because this time the experience is so much richer and you can't help but feel as though you're where you belong. And when Mary's eyes meet yours or her arm snakes around your waist as you watch the sun drop over the edge of the horizon, you feel that twinge of love that surprised you so much on the very first day all over again. It's unexpected – and that, you suppose, is what makes it so special.

**Author's Note**: How excited am I that they finally put this series on DVD? I've been waiting since high school (and I'm in grad school now – you do the math!) I've missed the boys terribly, and in my re-viewings I've come to appreciate (more) the subtle nuances of the Chris and Mary dynamic. There may be room for a Mary chapter to this story, even – you'll have to let me know if that interests you. (Click the button below to share thoughts!)


	2. Mary

_Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found, and enjoyed for the brief hour of its duration. D.H. Lawrence_

You'd never fallen in love at first sight before - but that didn't stop you from recognizing it when it happened for the first time. It was certainly most unexpected, not only because you never thought you'd find anyone again after Stephen was killed, but because you fell in love in the process of attempting to save Nathan Jackson's life and some sarcastic part of you thought that perhaps you should have been just a _little_ more focused on the task at hand.

Everything was different when you were younger; you expected to grow up and meet a man and get married and have a son and so none of it took you by surprise when it happened. It was just nature taking its course, after all. And Stephen was tall and handsome and idealistic, all of which were qualities that made him all the more exciting and made your future seem to hold so much promise, though it still wasn't love at first sight with him because you weren't sure of his feelings - or your own. His drive as a journalist and thirst for storytelling sometimes seemed to take over every other facet of his life and you sometimes wondered how you could ever hope to compete with something so thrilling. But he pursued you; he made you absolutely certain that yours was a love and a relationship that would last the rest of your lives and for that you loved him with your whole heart.

Stephen himself was so convinced of the promise of your future that how could you possibly know that those same qualities that made him so special were also the ones that would one day cause someone to take him from you? How were you to know that the son you were hoping would grow up to be just like his father would instead witness the murder of that very man and carry it with him for the rest of his years?

_How were you supposed to know that falling in love at first sight with a man as different from Stephen as night and day would change the course of your life so significantly?_

He stood on the porch of the saloon smoking a half-chewed cheroot and taking in the actions of the lynch mob of cowboys with an air of resigned, curious – and, yes, even vaguely _amused_ - observation. From hat to boots he wore black and, though you couldn't see his face clearly from your vantage point in the middle of the street, something about his manner caught your attention. You couldn't pinpoint the exact thing, but somehow you had a sense that he'd always been at the periphery of your vision but that you had never actually glimpsed him until that day.

Still, you didn't know you were in love until the moment he stepped from the porch and fell into step beside the wiry buffalo hunter from the dry goods store across the street, following the cowboys and their captive to the town cemetery. He took one step and you knew: you loved him. You'd always loved him and yet this was the first time you'd ever seen him. How odd.

This nameless man in black – the man you loved - was going to save Nathan from a lynching – and you knew it instinctively as you watched him move down the street with an easy coiling of the muscles on his lean frame and a grace that most men couldn't muster if they tried. He had cast his cheroot to the side and was scowling beneath the brim of his hat as he headed into a situation that could very easily result in his death, yet he showed no fear and instead carried with him that same air of amusement you'd noticed earlier. For all of those things – for his manner, his walk, his scowl, and his heroic gesture - you loved him at first sight.

Yet there were still hundreds of things that you didn't know about him, that you wouldn't know until much later. But in that moment you were still certain it was love; _how could that be_?

For instance, you didn't know that his name was Chris Larabee and that he made his living as a hired gun – a living that consisted of whiskey, bullets, occasional female companionship, and more whiskey.

You didn't know that his eyes were usually the dark brown of polished walnut but that sometimes from a different angle they were such a sparkling hazel that they reminded you of an amber broach that you'd once seen in a store window.

You didn't know that in those eyes you would see despair so deep that it was a wonder they weren't vacant from the pull of it, but that behind the despair was also a flicker of light – of hope – that pulled you in the way a candle attracted a moth in the darkness of night.

You didn't know that his sense of humor and his wit – when he allowed them to emerge – were so dry that you'd often find your reactions to the things that he said delayed, the meaning only sinking in later when you were alone and replaying the conversation in your head.

You didn't know that your productivity would decline once your father-in-law declared Chris and his six compatriots to be the protectors of the town of Four Corners, if only because you found yourself stationed at the window of your office at all hours of the day, attempting to catch a glimpse of him on the street outside.

You didn't know that the source of his pain was steeped in a similar set of circumstances to yours, that his wife and young son had been lost in a fire and he had been powerless to save them.

You didn't know that your blood would freeze in your veins - hurt, shocked, and unsettled as his expression made you - on the day you told him you shared his pain and he looked you squarely in the eye and said, "No, ma'am; you don't."

You didn't know that your heart would pound and your breath would catch on the day that he first called you "Mary" instead of saying "Mrs. Travis."

You also didn't know that he would have the power to unnerve and frighten you with his sometimes casual regard for human life - until the day you saw that he was willing to kill to save yours.

You didn't know that he would demonstrate his own feelings for you, not in words or actions, but in _inactions_, like the time he left you to settle your own feelings towards a "sporting woman" of his acquaintance rather than step between the two of you.

You didn't know that his dark moods would frighten you so deeply that some days it would be all you could do to muster up the courage to say "hello."

You didn't know that his easy, teasing moods would frustrate and fluster you so completely that you would feel your face flush with embarrassed heat the moment he cracked even a half-smile to show how much fun he was having at your expense.

You didn't know that very smile – rarely seen and slow to form when it did appear - would come to mean so much to you.

You didn't know that your son, Billy, would trust him so completely from their first meeting and that Billy's trust would cause your own to flourish, until you couldn't remember _not_ putting all of your faith squarely into his hands.

You also didn't know that it would be taking care of Billy that would hasten not only Chris's healing process, but your own (which you'd long thought was over and were surprised to feel emerge with your feelings for the gunslinger).

You didn't know that you'd soon be able to sense his presence without even sighting him and that somehow just knowing that he was in the same room would give you a sense of security.

You didn't know that he would become your rock and the one person that you anchored yourself to whenever the world seemed ready to open its jaws and swallow you whole, nor did you know that one touch of his hand against the small of your back could pull you from the brink without his uttering a single word.

You really knew nothing about him at all.

All you knew while you chased him to the cemetery behind the lynching party was that he was standing up for Nathan, whom you'd always counted as a friend, and you hoped that he would be successful (and not die in the process). You weren't even thinking of the story that you'd write later about the events of the day, short of describing the man in black in your head so that you might remember him always the way he looked striding down the street.

Only later would you realize that if he had ridden away that day instead of taking a stand, the rest of your life would have turned out to be completely different – and not at all as special.

Without him in Four Corners, you never would have remembered what it was like to have a real friend to talk to.

You never would have witnessed the deep bond that grew between Chris and the six other men who became fixtures in the town, never been charmed by Ezra, sweet-talked by Buck, gotten to mother JD, been mothered by Josiah, or learned what real poetry sounded like when Vin shared his thoughts.

You never would have heard Nathan's quiet laugh again.

You never would have felt safe enough to bring Billy home, nor watched him ride down the street with Chris on his way to the fishing hole with a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. (Such a normal little boy activity that you feared he'd never get the chance to do again!)

You'd never have learned all of the things that you didn't know about Chris and never tasted the rich sweetness that accompanied love the second time around.

Nor would you have felt the twisting and wrenching fear of watching him ride out of town with the Seven – only to have it replaced by joyful release when you saw him return to you again, unharmed and looking into your eyes with such a trueness that it made the fear and waiting worthwhile.

In short, your life would have passed you by in the pages of your newspaper.

You didn't expect any of it – could never have predicted it for all the world back when you planned that life you'd pictured when you were younger – and it was the surprise of it that made the experience that much deeper and your feelings that much more acute. And even when you tried to make a connection to the man in black when the gun smoke had cleared - when you asked where he'd come from and he told you, "Saloon" and you asked where he and Nathan and the buffalo hunter were going and they again replied, "Saloon," there was something in his eyes, something that passed between you that told you it was the start of something new and unexpected. You weren't sure what it was, but somehow you knew that one day you'd stand beside him on a porch watching the sun set, your arm looped around his waist, your head on his shoulder, and your mind again marveling at the surprise of it all.

It wasn't nature taking its course this time; it was much, much more.

FIN

Author's Note – Wow, this one was harder to write than Chris's (probably because Mary never got as much background exposition as he did). But the cool thing is, it's given me a plot bunny to do a similar story for the rest of the fellas – I'm tentatively titling it "The Best Laid Plans." Check back in the next couple of months to see if it's up! (And while you're here, click that little button below and tell me what you think of this one.)


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